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By Mishael Schiller

It doesn’t make any logical sense, when you think about it: 25 men in uniforms hold the hopes of a city, state or region in their hands. A select military group? No. I’m talking about a baseball team. Every year I promise myself that I’m not going to get emotionally involved. During the 162 games of the season, I’m pretty good about it. I tend to hold a mediocre interest in the goings on around the baseball world. But then, the playoffs start and my promise is out the window! Our entire house gets caught up in the fate of the teams around the country. And who is to blame? Not my baseball-stat fanatic husband. Not my teenager. No, out of all of the members in the family, I’m the one plotting ahead to work our lives around each series. I’m the one counting the days, the hours until the next game. What is it about baseball that pulls us, sucks us in? Perhaps it’s that taste of glory, the experience of the never-before-done event, the sharing in the desire to participate in something outside of ourselves. I don’t know about you, but I can’t explain the invisible force that draws me into the playoff frenzy. I just know it’s there and I’ve learned not to fight it. If my favorite team is one of the few still in the hunt, you can just forget about normal family life in October. So, clear the schedule, Honey. It’s playoff time!

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